


Not This

by dweeblet



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU in which Dipper went to Gravity Falls alone, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Bipper, Child Abuse, Dark!Dipper, Demon possession, Dipper Pines Has Panic Attacks, Drabble, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Violence, Mental Health Issues, Oneshot, Paranoia, Trauma, artist!Mabel, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:29:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweeblet/pseuds/dweeblet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being shipped up north to spend the summer with some creepy relative she'd never met was not an ideal way to spend the summer, especially for a budding preteen full of boundless energy like Mabel. She thought she’d dodged a bullet when she’d been sent to art camp while her brother got to spend his summer with some distant uncle in the middle of nowhere.</p><p>She had no idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not This

**Author's Note:**

> Quick drabble in between working on commissions from my dA and chapter 2 of A Crooked Sort of Kindness.  
> Forgive me haha, Dark!Dipper is my kryptonite. This was written in one evening so please forgive me if there are any notable errors in grammar, etc.

    The Dipper that left Piedmont at the start of the summer and the one that returned at its end were quite decidedly two very different entities to Mabel.  
  
    She knew the old one, and recalled him well; bright-eyed and wise beyond his years, handsome (if a bit pudgy, he was what she’d call ‘huggable,’ but pleasing to the eye nonetheless) and pleasantly reserved in a way that managed to make his less than talkative nature polite and enjoyable. Even though he was unbearably shy and opted to contribute little to most conversations himself, he listened well. What words he did speak were always insightful, eloquent in a way Mabel could only dream of enacting herself.  
  
    He almost always had his nose buried in a book, but the way his chocolate eyes lit up and his round, freckled cheeks pushed up into an unconscious grin when he immersed himself in between its covers was so incredibly endearing, no one dared interrupt. He was smart, cleverer than Mabel knew she could ever be, and always getting smarter. Dipper was a scholar, perhaps a little out of his time, enthralled with days of yore and the distant future alike. He loved his practice nonetheless, and soaked up knowledge like a sponge with eagerness and passion that rivaled even the most earnest of students.  
  
    The Dipper Mabel once knew was a quiet hurricane of mocha curls and dimple-filled smiles that belied his reserved nature, laughter that was rarely voiced but when it was it rang out like bells and thunder. If knowledge was power, Dipper was a god of warmth and tolerance and awkwardly expressed brotherly love...  
  
    Not _this_.  
  
    The boy that returned home in August was a stranger to Mabel.

  
***  
  
    She waited patiently on the sidewalk by the bus stop, parents sitting on the bench in the shade of the stop's canopy as she danced in place, glancing expectantly down the road every so often to check for the oncoming bus.  
  
    "Easy there, champ." Said Mr. Pines, grinning good-naturedly at his daughter.  
    "Stay away from the street if you can help it. I don't want you falling into traffic," her mother added in a slightly worried tone of voice, biting her lip despite the soft smile gracing her features as well.  
  
    Mabel nodded, beaming the thousand-watt grin she'd been made known for and opting to run excited circles around the bench Mr. and Mrs. Pines rested on. She squealed in excitement, gushing and spinning energetically around the sun-baked pavement and waving the overlong sleeves of a thick wool sweater around like ribbons despite the eighty-degree heat. Her excited screeches increased in pitch and frequency as a Speedy Beaver bus rounded the corner, rattling along and coming to a stop with a sputter and the sound of shrieking brakes (a sound not unlike Mabel's own excited exclamations.)  
  
    The door of the bus clattered open and out stepped a boy with a backpack slung over narrow shoulders, shuttered, wary eyes flitting from side to side as the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, like he was going to say something but thought better of it. His brown hair was a shaggy mess framing shadowed eyes, punctuated by dark purple smears beneath them like the mask of a raccoon. His clothes were at least a size too big and hung a bit loosely from his frame. The boy's arms were soft in shape, but the clean skin was marred by scratches and scars. His eyes were nervously calculating, afraid, as his gaze flitted over the abridged Pines family of Piedmont, California. A lot had changed compared to when she had last seen him, but Mabel recognized that grey and green bookbag and the slant of his mahogany eyes and the shape of his nose, and she almost did a double take because she could hardly believe that was Dipper.  
  
    The bus trundled away as a pair of girls disembarked and awkwardly skirted the odd sort of staring contest Mabel and the person who was most likely supposed to be her brother had become engaged in. He was not any shorter than her, and in fact may have been taller than he was before, but his eyes were full of something feral and afraid that made Mabel feel like she was towering over him. She noticed his hand wandering to the dark blue vest he was wearing, callused fingers twitching as though to grab something from one of its inner pockets, but he seemed to think better of it, though Mabel didn't fail to take note of the woven bracelet with a golden glyph etched into the soft leather wrapped around his wrist. She wondered what it meant for a while before she realized she'd been staring.  
  
    They stood there for another long moment before Mabel finally found her words. (It was rare for her to be rendered so speechless. She had a tough time of recovering from the feeling.) She bit her lip and gave as enthusiastic a wave as she could muster. "Welcome home, Dip-dop!" She exclaimed, rushing in to close the awkward distance between them and wrap Dipper up in a hug. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. He was as stiff as a board in her arms, and sure, he was never much of a touchy-feely fellow before, but this was beyond that. She could feel him shake and jerk away from her touch as he _flinched_. "Bro?" She ventured, but it was too late.  
  
    He wrenched away from her with roughness he'd never before displayed, if he was ever capable of it at all. His jaw was set and eyes flashed with fear, like he expected her to strike him.  
  
    His words came out slow and careful, each one taking its time to fill the air before making way for the next, and his tone dripped with a quiet sort of pleading that made Mabel's heart melt. "Please don't touch me," he requested gently, even tone of voice belying the foreign expression of terror that stretched his features. Mabel bit her lip again. "Don't give me that look," he murmured soothingly, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing just hard enough to cause discomfort, though that didn't seem to be his intention. "It's not you, it's me. Old man up there made me chop wood for him and I'm still awfully sore. How was art camp?"  
  
    Mabel knew he was lying. She could see the shadows slow dancing in the eyes that weren't quite Dipper's, the unnatural grimace that split his face, but no one else seemed to notice. He almost looked like he was in pain, but still, no one paid him any mind.  
  
    Together, they walked the block back home from the bus stop. Still, no one noticed, but Mabel could feel his hollow gaze boring holes into the back of her head. She felt her mouth moving and heard herself say, "Camp was fun," but the words were distant. She cringed as he brushed past her, and wondered how her parents could make such small talk about his finally gaining some muscle when this was clearly all wrong. False, fake, _wrong_ in every sense of the word. Dipper wasn't like this, timid and cold and frightened at every gentle touch and quiet sound. Dipper was supposed to be soft and warm and perfect to hug because he was complacent and agreeable like a human-sized teddy bear, he was kind and happy and sweet and confident. He was meant to be a strong, reliable brother, not an embodiment of pure terror, trembling paranoia, not a stranger.  
  
    Not _this_.  
  
    Something horrible must have happened in Gravity Falls.  
  
***  
  
    The stranger that came home with them made a virtual beeline for Dipper's room almost as soon as they made it into the house. He entered and shut the door behind him without a word. When Mabel tried to let him know that "Supper is ready and Mom and Dad want to know more about how things were in Oregon," she found the door locked, and no answer from within. She didn't like like this new Dipper.  
  
    When he finally came down for dinner, he ate like a bird. He was thinner now. He never had a horribly huge appetite, but Mabel didn't think her brother had ever eaten like this. Usually, he could at least finish a helping of their father's (delicious) potato-macaroni kugel, but now he hardly seemed to eat at all. He didn't answer many of their parents' questions. He was too busy staring down at his cooling plate of casserole with glassy, shuttered eyes. When he was done, despite having barely touched his food, he curtly thanked their father for his cooking and moved lithely back upstairs on the grounds of needing "to catch up on sleep, since school starts next week."  
  
    There was quiet for a while before Mabel sighed, casting a glance at her parents, who exchanged worried looks.  
  
    "Do you think something's wrong with him?" She asked.  
  
    Her mother's lips formed a tight line, brow knit with worry. "I hope not."  
  
    "Easy there," Mr. Pines assured them. "Your birthday is close, gosh, you'll be teenagers soon." He recoiled in mock horror, ruffling Mabel's hair playfully. "But I wouldn't worry about Dip-Dop," he continued cheekily, grinning as Mabel smiled at the use of the pet name (of her own creation.) "You guys are getting older and soon mom'll tell you all about growing up on her end of things, but at this age boys start getting independent and wanna be their own man and have their own space and all that. Starting to get a little rebellious, happens to everyone. I was the same at this age. He'll grow out of it eventually."  
  
    Mabel frowned, unconvinced. "I guess so," she said, "but he's acting weird and it's kinda freaking me out."  
  
    Mrs. Pines sighed softly and steepled her fingers. "Don't worry, Mabelangelo." A gentle smile crossed her face, and then faded a bit. "He's probably glad to be home and be able to sleep in his own bed again, too. I bet he'll be more cooperative once he settles back in." She laughed softly, grinning, "So don't let it bother you too much. I know how having a brother can be."  
  
    "And if he doesn't," Mabel crooned, a grin befitting of a Cheshire Cat splitting her face, "I'll kick that door open and tickle 'im till he surrenders!"  A burst of bubbly, almost manic laughter escaped her as she wiggled her fingers menacingly, and Mr. and Mrs. Pines both laughed along.

  
    Dipper was watching from the stairwell. He was trying his hardest _not_ to laugh.

  
    "Not this," he whispered between choked sounds, a shaky grimace contorting his face. He screwed his eyes shut and dug the heels of his hands into them, but his limbs suddenly went slack. His eyes slid open, gleaming with something malevolent and cruel as clumsy fingers ripped the leather bracelet from his thin wrist even as his skin was burnt by the sigil. His pupils contracted in a way that no human's eyes should have been capable of doing, till they were diamond-shaped slits framed by liquid gold. A voice whispered, low and grating between the giggles that bubbled up from his throat. "Not _this_."

 


End file.
